Beneath the Porcelain Mask

41. Such Tried Friends.

"They spoke very little of their mutual feeling; pretty phrases and warm expressions being probably unnecessary between such tried friends."

Far From the Madding Crowd

Thomas Hardy.

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With the chiming of the six o'clock bells, I stirred awake, stretching out on the mattress, loving the cool fabric against my skin.

My skin—!

I sat bolt upright, clutching the sheets to my chest in horror and stared down at the sleeping Jeremy. His hair stuck out all over the place, and his skin was clear of dirt from now evaporated sweat. I probably didn't look much better.

I swung my legs out of bed, bare feet met with the freezing floorboards and began a frantic hunt for my clothes. A stocking here, a garter there, petticoats under the bed, corset flung on the chair I was aiming for in the first place.

I was just tugging my dress on when Jeremy stirred. "Nikki?"

He looked around at his covers, still half asleep, and back at me, blinking in the lamplight. I flushed and looked around for my mask, not seeing it anywhere. "It's alright. Go back to sleep."

I did the last of the laces on my dress and fixed the skirts, bundling my hair up. But he sat up, frowning at me.

"We didn't..." He swallowed, a pallor sweeping over his face. "We did, didn't we? Oh, what have I done?"

"It was my fault!"

But he gripped the sheets and stared at me. "Out of wedlock too! Forgive me!"

I looked at the shoe I was trying to pull on. "There's nothing to forgive."

"What?" I glanced back at him for a moment to catch him staring at me, as if I'd told him the sun was populated by millions of fireflies. I cleared my throat.

"There's nothing to forgive. I shared with you secrets that men have met their doom trying to discover." I walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, fiddling with the folds in my cotton dress. "I regret nothing."

"But what if something comes of it?"

"It won't."

"But if it does, that child is illegit—"

"The wedding is in three days," I said, stroking his hair. He watched me from beneath his eyelashes, head ducked in embarrassment. "No one will know."

He looked at his feet, biting his thumb. "God will," he muttered, and he blessed himself.

"I already have an express ticket to Hell," I tried to joke, but he simply watched me and didn't remark. The fear in his eyes said it all. My smile fell. My hand slid down his cheek.

"You're right," he breathed. "Not about the ticket to Hell, no. But we must pray nothing will come of this. I'm not ready to be a father."

And in all honesty, I wasn't ready to be a mother, but I didn't tell him as much.

"It won't," I repeated, for my comfort as much as his. I stood, letting my hand linger on his cheek for another moment. He leaned into my palm, closing his eyes against my touch and covering it with his own fingers. "For now, let's just worry about moving and the wedding. And hope Christine plays to an enthusiastic house."

He smiled at long last and gave a small nod. I fetched my cloak and pulled it on.

"There's someone I need to see in town. I won't be long."